


A Packed Lunch

by RenaRoo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Original Character version of India (written prior to his introduction)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9421502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaRoo/pseuds/RenaRoo
Summary: Food unites people around the world and sharing it brings three unlikely friends together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally published with my joint account I shared with @theeffar in 2011 for our Hetalia works, and in my unending need to cultivate and streamline my online works, I’m reposting some of the ones I’m still proud of here and on my AO3.
> 
> Original A/N: The last of my trio of close friends from high school is graduating tonight and it seemed like perfect timing to publish this little story I wrote a month ago that’s dedicated to my three closest high school friends. We were united in our unique interest in heritage (I being a second generation German-American, today’s graduate being a first generation Korean-American, and our third member being an Indian immigrant) and packing our lunches to school. So here’s to my homies!

Sometimes the greatest achievements we have are not in the friendships of our past but the ones we construct anew. There is nothing more terrifying than opening yourself up to the strangers around you.

* * *

Most of the time, he ate alone. His lunch was packed neatly in tubaware containers of at least three different sizes. All was placed in an ecologically friendly cloth sack and sealed with a draw string. 

Each wurst was cooked with the anticipation of being heated up in the break room. It had a microwave about ten years old that no one would bother to replace. If a country didn’t want to eat in the food court, they were more likely to use the stove and start from scratch. 

Still, there was a tomato sauce stain from America’s last demonstration to England on why Spaghetti O’s were world changing.

It also sometimes smelled like olive oil which often made Germany wonder if Romano or Greece had used it beforehand. He quickly wrote those off, though.

He did not eat alone due to a lack of friends or important business lunches. He had enough friends in his pocket to keep himself satisfied and his contact list on his cell in need of a scroll bar.

Germany just needed times where it was him and his lunch. Everyone did.

Even Italy had eventually accepted, albeit unhappily, that many occasions were meant to be reflected on in privacy. 

As such, it was not a lonely thing to take a lunch on his own to the break room. 

He sat at the table not terribly far away from the sectional that at one point surrounded a television but no longer did. (Someone would eventually have to tell Russia that he had to reimburse the embassy for staking the flat screen with his pipe.) He sat in one of the two chairs that were not cracked and opened each tubaware container as he needed to. It was just easier to heat them up as needed rather than heat them all up only to have the last of his meal be cold before he touched it. 

Germany found this often-but-not-too-often routine comforting. 

Without warning, though, it changed. When the room wasn’t empty as he walked in.

* * *

India had always been a strange acquaintance of Germany.

Seemingly the two would have little to do with each other, but the truth of the matter was they had been friendly since even before the World Wars. He was always encouraging to her about her feelings on breaking away from colonization and, in turn, she was the first of the Allies to end her declaration of war with him after the second World War.

He still hadn’t thought of a proper way to thank her for the support of German Reunification.

Therefore it was not a terribly distressing thing to see her in the break room, sitting on one of the two unbroken chairs, eating what he thought looked like one of Mexico’s tortillas with brown rice and hen pecked quantities of vegetables and beans.

When she looked at him she seemed equally surprised and equally undeterred. She nodded and he made his way to the microwave.

“I enjoyed your presentation today,” she said as he decided to warm the wurst first.

“Thank you,” He said and turned toward her so as to not be rude. “I was rather concerned that I was boring the assembly.”

A wry smile grew upon the regal ancient’s face. “Ah, only America,” she assured him.

It was rather reassuring, he had to admit.

* * *

“It’s called roti,” she told him as she tore a bite size piece from the flat bread. “I noticed you looking at it.”

“So I see,” Germany nodded before tearing a piece from his own rye-wheat.

He had decided against thinking too much on how both of their packed meals had changed over the several weeks of meeting each other, unplanned as it might have been, in the break room.

Germany was much more interested in thinking about how Italy and Japan seemed rather put off by the fact that his often-but-not-too-often days of packed lunches had turned into a consistent every-time-we-have-meetings deal.

At the last meeting he had invited them to pack their own lunches, which they both considered. He hadn’t seen them come yet, though.

“For another meeting topic,” Germany thought out loud, “I should talk about how fast food has eliminated some of our more interpersonal relations.”

India thought for a moment and stirred her vegetables absently. “You will certainly get America’s attention with that.”

* * *

The routine changed yet again when Germany arrived slightly later than usual. 

He had been cleaning off the board in the room after a particularly tough debate about global warming regulation turned into a contest to see who was capable of drawing the best landscape. That, of course developed into a nasty debate on whether or not the sun should have a face or not. 

After a cry of ‘if the moon has one, why can’t the sun?’ they had adjourned for lunch.

All except Germany who was cleaning up the mess and wondering if anyone would be interested after lunch in hearing about his theory on fast food. 

By the time he had reached the break room at last, India was already there. She had not started eating without him.

Korea, however, had.

He had a bowl of what smelled like something steamed and caused Germany’s stomach to rumble slightly. Not enough, however, for Germany not to notice that there was only one chair left and it had a noticeable crack through the bottom of the seat. 

“Did you pack your lunch today as well, Korea?” Germany asked and made his way to the microwave as was customary.

“Tteokguk,” he said with a great, beaming smile on his face. It reminded the European that the youthful Asian nation had been spending too much of his time with America. “Nothing special.”

Germany nodded and waited for the ding to alert him that the Solyanka his brother gave him a recipe for was done warming up. “It smells good.”

India had not spoke up besides gentle chides to Korea who, if Germany recalled correctly, had been doing business with her since he was born out of the fall of the three kingdoms. Ancient friends, he supposed, though India seemed surprisingly maternal.

Germany sat in the cracked chair. It whined but so long as he did not move much it was fine, only occasionally creaking.

Their meals were very different and, despite this, it smelled very good when all together, steam mixing in the air until it was all the same thing. 

* * *

Germany sometimes wondered if the relationship they shared at their meal was only that. 

Since his addition to the rat pack, Korea had done the majority of the speaking throughout their meals. Germany would interject and attempt to ground the insane topics Korea would bring up. In truth, though, he despised when Korea allowed that to happen.

India and Germany may have eaten together in happy, mundane silence but they both smiled more and ate more with Korea around them.

Break at the World Conferences had become a non-sequitter for the three of them.

On the day one of them could not attend the break room for whatever reason, it was mention in passing the day before. Then, even though the other two would not speak about it beyond that, they would not meet in the break room. Germany would see them fitted back into their social positions in the food court. 

He was just as guilty as the other two.

He began to wonder why he never brought up the meeting point about fast food and the depravation of more international relationships. But he didn’t think too hard on it. 

In truth, he already knew the reason. And it was necessary selfish.

* * *

“I think tomorrow we should make a pot luck out of this break room,” Korea said. 

Germany envied the other’s creativeness and innocent naïvity. As insane and uncalled for as his ideas were most of the time, there was a spark behind Korea’s eyes that made the other two nations take pause and consider.

They looked at each other before coming to an agreement.

“Yes,” Germany said out loud.

Content, Korea went back to his own meal. The other two followed suit.

No one said anything, but they all marveled at the fact that in two yeas of this arrangement it was the first time any of them had mentioned the strangely powerful bond out loud. 

* * *

Trying to figure out what to cook for the pot luck was much more stressful than it should have been. His stomach did flip flops as he tried to be considerate of the other two nations’ cultural norms and definitions of kosher. 

The dogs whining to be fed and the constant berating of his brother did not really do anything to assist matters either. 

As a sign of tradition, India ate little that deterred from her land’s natural diet. It was always homemade spices that radiated their heat so much it would cause the German’s eyes to water at a simple sniff. She enjoyed a wide variety of fruits and vegetables that were cooked in ways that were still a mystery to him.

Fast like the times they found themselves in, Korea’s food was a segway between tradition and spontaneous energy. He would eat the meats Gemany was comfortable with cooking but he would also most likely eat the traditional noodles, soups, and tofu. He was unpredictable and less of a worry.

But Germany had always made a habit of worrying. The more senseless the more likely he was to worry.

He cursed under his breath and collapsed into the nearest chair.

Blackie was the first of the animals to respond to the action. She did so by whining and laying her oversized head on his lap.

Germany sighed and rubbed her between her ears as he thought deeply on the subject at hand. There was so many things that could go wrong with a pot luck.

“I need something unique,” he informed his precious pets. “But it also needs to be something that can be enjoyed in small quantities. It would also help it was kosher for my friends’ beliefs and traditions. All I can think of is wurst and stew.”

He looked away from Blackie to Berlitz and Aster. Berlitz was rigid as any Doberman, but Aster was dopey and complacent as ever, her head swaying to the side as another of Prussia’s chicks landed on her. They pecked her flat, Labrador head like they were gathering seed. 

And that’s when Germany received some inspiration. 

He immediately retuned to cooking, much to Blackie’s distress.

* * *

"Oh, so what is this, Germany? A pumpkin roll?” Korea asked as he pawed at the dessert set before him and India. 

The table was already decorated with dainty treats from the other two lunch buddies. So much so that Germany was slightly ashamed at the tiny contribution of mohn stollen.

It took him quite a while to make but, seeing and smelling the wonderful dishes like samgyeopsai and kofta it felt incredibly underwhelming.

“It’s mohn stollen,” he explained. “It’s made with poppy seeds.” After a breath he added, “It’s not much.”

India smiled gratefully. “Today,” she explained, “it is everything.”

Then the three corners of the globe partook in a single meal.

Germany and Korea shared their tears as Korea cried out ‘too much curry!’ India nibbled respectfully at each dish before her, tearing off extas from the mohn stollen when she thought the others would not notice. She and Germany then both ate from Korea’s enthusiastically offered samgyopsai. Then Korea snuck two of the rolls of mohn stollen into his brief case, folded sloppily in stain covered napkins. 

“I was unaware you ate meat,” Germany said to India as they rested back against their chairs and absorbed the feeling of being much too full.

India smiled. “I share practices with all my people,” she said before growing a curious smile. “However, I have found in thousands of years of allowing my people’s religious sects decide their own rules, I would never eat without bending some of them.”

Germany smiled and nodded to this news. He understood what it felt like to be pulled by his own people in too many directions at once.

* * *

The break room gang ended almost as abruptly as it came into existence. 

It was an unassuming day as the three crossed paths and their individual ways to the break room. They nodded and agreed to walk together the rest of the trek without speaking a single word. 

By the time they got to the room where a small table waited with two chairs that there were fine and one chair that was broken and squeaked, the microwave was running.

And America was cussing at how his Wendy’s was suddenly ruined.

They would have asked him how so if they hand’t already been able to smell it. Or see the remains of the chili’s contents plastered on the inside of the door.

He turned and saw them, smiled his big, American smile, and waved them over.

“Hey, fancy seeing you all in the break room,” he said. “Lucky you guys! There’s plenty of room for more, even with the hero in here already.”

And there was. So none of them bothered to mention that they had, in fact, brought their own foods into the kitchenette first. It was a useless struggle and no one outside of their unspoken group would understand it.

So India turned around part of the sectional to align it with the open side of the table. Korea took a turn in the cracked chair, perhaps to look across the table at America who he was already in an explosive conversation with. 

Germany merely sat across from India, feeling smaller and smaller between the two louder nations. It wasn’t a meeting, though, so it was not like there was a rhyme or reason to interrupt. 

* * *

It was never the same after that day. Though, they only bothered to meet in the new arrangement once. 

That was plenty enough for the original trio to realize that the quaint structure they had established had died with an unassuming whisper.

America was an easy scapegoat to blame for it, but they all knew that it was not him. They all tolerated him much easier than the majority of nations who spent time with him. In fact, the two days that had been eaten with America added to the group had been very sociable and fun to say the least.

The culprit was America’s food. Even if it was a home baked apple pie on the second day, it was a fourth culture, a fourth toxin and taste added to the air of the break room and it no longer smelled like a unique blend of counter cultures.

It only smelled like apple pie.

Even when they bit into the poignant curry that India had brought, the zest had been altered into something almost sweeter.

They no longer had food to share. Likewise, their reason for meeting vanished.

It was the last time Germany ate in the break room.

* * *

Italy and Japan seemed happy enough to welcome Germany back to the food court. They even asked him how his thesis was coming along for the presentation on why fast food was bad.

He was eternally grateful for their dependable natures and even more so for the fact that they were still genuinely interested in his subject. Even if he had dropped it nearly a month beforehand.

There seemed to be something missing when he smelled the air of the food court, though, and all there was to greet his nose was an indescribable mass of scents. The individual foods no longer had their own tastes in the air, it was all the same. It was white noise.

Until he smelled something that was surprisingly close to tteokguk and something else that he could have sworn was kofta.

When he looked around he saw his break room companions offering up some of their extra food to the countries America had drug to their table.

“It’s great stuff!” America exclaimed loudly. “I started going to some markets in D.C. that sells it and, man, oh, man. You’ve got to try some. You like curry, don’t you, England?”

Germany, now intrigued, made his way to the table where his friends smiled up at him. Then America turned and grinned.

“Oh, hey, Germany!” I brought some Awesomest-Apple-Pie if you want some! Did you bring any wurst or anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid I was planning on eating in the food court today.

America made a disappointed noise and crossed his arms. “Okay, fine. But you can’t use that excuse next month! We’e totally having a pot luck. What do you think?”

India smiled softly up the German. “It was an idea I had in passing.”

Korea flailed his ams in the ai. “Pot lucks originated in Korea!”

After a moment of soaking in the information, Germany nodded, a faint smile dancing on his own lips. “I think a pot luck sounds like a great suggestion.”

* * *

The universal truth, through cultures around the world, is that the one thing that unites us all is food.


End file.
